


this is love, this is war

by quiddative (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Selection Series - Kiera Cass
Genre: Alternative Universe - The Selection Fusion, Competition, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-03-21 09:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3687834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/quiddative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The notice arrived at Grimmauld Place two months before Harry’s seventeenth birthday.</p><p>“To the House of Black: the recent census has confirmed that a single pure or half-blooded wizard between the ages of sixteen and nineteen currently resides in your home. We are pleased to announce that this wizard is now eligible to be Selected. The Crown Prince Draco Lucius Malfoy is coming of age on the Fifth of June. As he ventures into this new part of his life, he hopes to move forward with a partner. If the eligible wizard of your household is interested in possibly becoming Prince Draco’s consort, please fill out the enclosed form and return it to the Ministry of Magic by noon on the Thirtieth of June. Thirty-five witches and wizards will be randomly selected to meet the prince.”</p><p>(or: The Hunger Games meets The Bachelor)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So the entire time I was reading The Selection, all I could think about was how much I needed a Drarry AU because I'm the biggest trash baby in the world. Then I made a [photoset](http://quiddatively.tumblr.com/post/107187617479/drarry-au-the-selection-insp-for-thirty-five), opened Google Docs, and now here we are.
> 
> (For those wondering, yes, Queen E-beth and the rest of the royal family do not exist in this AU.)

The notice arrived at Grimmauld Place two months before Harry’s seventeenth birthday.

“ _To the House of Black,_ ” Sirius read, putting on an exaggerated posh accent and waving his hand with a flourish. “ _The recent census has confirmed that a single pure or half-blooded wizard between the ages of sixteen and nineteen currently resides in your home. We are pleased to announce that this wizard is now eligible to be Selected._ ”

Remus nudged Harry’s arm playfully. “Well, aren’t you special?”

Harry grinned back weakly before quickly taking a sip from his tea to hide his nervousness. Both Sirius and Remus, particularly Sirius, despised the Selection and basically anything to do with the royal family. Harry could only brace himself for their reaction once they found out what Harry was planning to do with his newfound eligibility.

“ _The Crown Prince Draco Lucius Malfoy is coming of age on the Fifth of June. As he ventures into this new part of his life, he hopes to move forward with a partner._ ” Sirius scoffed, “Please, more like my delightful cousin-in-law is anxious to get his sprog married off as soon as possible so he can start reproducing, never mind what the brat actually wants.” He continued, “ _If the eligible wizard of your household is interested in possibly becoming Prince Draco’s consort, please fill out the enclosed form and return it to the Ministry of Magic by noon on the Thirtieth of June. Thirty-five witches and wizards will be randomly selected to meet the prince._ ” Sirius guffawed, “‘Randomly selected,’ my ass.”

“They can’t exactly admit that they only choose the best looking and well connected ones of the lot now, can they?” said Remus wryly. 

Sirius cleared his throat before continuing, “ _Participants will be housed at the Malfoy Family’s Summer Palace in Wiltshire for the duration of their stay. The families of each participant will be generously compensated for their service to the royal family--_ blah, blah, blah, and then it goes on and on about how being Selected is an honour and all that rot.” Sirius tossed the parchment down on the table and winked at Harry. “Good thing you won’t be part of this rubbish.”

Harry fidgeted in his seat and avoided looking at the two men he had come to regard as his parents since they took him in at the age of seven. “Actually,” he said, concentrating on pulling out a loose thread on the right sleeve of his jumper, “I was thinking of entering.” 

The relaxed atmosphere in the kitchen instantly dissolved into an awkward silence. “What?” asked Sirius, dumbstruck.

“I want to put my name in for the Selection.”

“You’re joking, right?” said Sirius as he sat down on the chair across from Harry. When Harry said nothing he visibly deflated. “You’re not joking.”

Harry shook his head. “I know that you think the Selection is stupid--and I agree!--but, well, it can’t hurt to enter, right? Hundreds of witches and wizards are probably on their way to the Ministry right now so it’s not like my chances are very high.”

“But why would you even waste your time in entering?” Sirius whined. He scrunched up his nose like he just smelled something foul. “Please don’t tell me you actually think the Malfoy brat is attractive.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Of course not.” After practically growing up with Prince Draco frequently glaring snobbishly down his nose at him from the front pages of the _Daily Prophet_ , Harry found him too similar to bullies like Dudley to consider him attractive. He was, however, in the minority when it came to public opinion regarding the prince. Most of his classmates at Hogwarts had an embarrassing tendency to swoon at the mere mention of him. It only increased when the prince came out as bisexual last year.

“Harry, the Selection will be taking place in a few months and has been known to last for years,” said Remus in a carefully neutral tone. “And don’t forget, you’ll be studying for your NEWTs this year--are you really going to throw your education away for this?”

“I can defer for a year, which you already know since you used to be my Defence teacher,” Harry pointed out. Although he already knew that it was going to be hard to convince Sirius to let him register, it was really Remus that he needed on his side. “Besides, even if I do get Selected, which I’m pretty sure won’t happen anyway, I’ll definitely be out of the competition by the end of the year. And that’s even if it’s still going on by then.”

It was actually quite rare for the Selection to last longer than a few months. As much as the competition was for the royal family’s benefit, it was really an entertainment event for the whole country. From the way Sirius and Remus had described the last one, in which Sirius’s cousin Narcissa was the winner, it made even the Quidditch World Cup look like a country fair in comparison.

There was a memorable one a few centuries ago that went on for three years and only ended when the public had grown impatient of not knowing who their future queen (at the time) was going to be. According to Harry’s History of Magic textbook, there were actually riots that ended with the prince’s first choice being killed in the crossfire, resulting in a rather unhappy marriage between the prince and his second choice. Most Selections after that tended to only last for six months at most.

“So you want to defer?” asked Remus in his unnervingly calm teacher’s voice. 

Harry gulped but nodded. “Yeah, and I think it’ll be better for me anyway. The Selection starts in August so let’s say I’m Selected and get kicked out by December at the latest--I’ll have a few extra months to study for my NEWTs. By the time I go back to Hogwarts, I’ll be ahead of the other Seventh Years.” He paused to exhale. “Not to mention _the families of each participant will be generously compensated_ ,” he quoted the notice. “Even if I’m only in the Selection for a week, the money you two’ll get will be a big help.”

The lines around Remus’s eyes softened and he nodded in understanding. “Ah, this was about the money then.” He didn’t sound surprised.

Sirius let out a growl that was so similar to how he sounded when he was in his Animagus form that Harry almost expected to see Padfoot sitting across from him when he turned to face his godfather. “Harry, how many times do I have to tell you? We have enough."

“But only just,” Harry protested, glad to finally be getting to the heart of the matter.

Due to the Ministry’s tight werewolf regulations, it was impossible for Remus to find a job anywhere, even among Muggles. If Dumbledore hadn’t hired him as the Defence teacher in Harry’s third year, Remus wouldn’t even have any savings, no matter how small the amount was. When his werewolf status was revealed during an inquiry at the end of the year, he had been forced to resign despite Dumbledore’s appeals to the Board of Governors. He was currently on contract as a part-time tutor at a comprehensive Muggle school in Hampstead, which paid very little. 

Sirius worked at a Muggle garage in Chelsea fixing vintage cars and the occasional motorcycle. Together, Sirius and Remus’s salaries barely covered the cost of food and Remus’s monthly Wolfsbane. The only reason they were able to live in Grimmauld Place was a convenient loophole in the Magical Inheritance Law. When his brother died, Sirius became the sole living heir of the Black family despite having been legally disowned for marrying Remus when he was eighteen. But he had been forced to spend most of the Black fortune in a long custody battle for Harry after his parents were murdered by their friend, Peter Pettigrew. 

The Wizengamot thought that the Dursleys had been best suited to take care of Harry because of their blood connection, never mind that they hated all things related to magic despite the fact that Muggles and wizards had been living peacefully together for ages now. Custody cases were extremely rare in the wizarding world and blood relatives always received preference in the few that successfully made their way to trial. The only reason the Dursleys even wanted to keep Harry was to gain access to his inheritance. Sirius’s only claim was his legal status as Harry’s godfather. 

He finally won the case after Harry blew up Aunt Marge on Dudley’s eighth birthday and the Aurors sent to investigate detected signs of abuse. Harry had been--and still was--grateful that Sirius had fought so hard for him but he could never quite shake off the guilt of knowing exactly how much his godfather sacrificed for him. Although both Sirius and Remus frequently assured him that they would never regret taking him in, Harry was always painfully aware of just how much they lost. 

It was lucky that the Dursleys hadn't manage to spend _all_ of Harry's inheritance; when he started attending Hogwarts, he had just about enough left to pay for his textbooks and robes. He tried to offer Sirius and Remus some of his money many times but they always refused. Sirius refused out of pride and the firm belief that taking any of Harry’s money would be a betrayal to James and Lily. Remus followed suit out of loyalty to Sirius and a fierce determination to protect what was left of Harry’s childhood. 

Well, Harry wasn’t a child anymore. 

“So you’re just going to sell yourself to the Malfoys then?” hissed Sirius. 

“No,” said Harry, resisting the urge to yell back. He clenched his fists at his side instead. “I’ll only play nice with them long enough to save up enough for you and Remus. And that’s only the best case scenario. Chances are I won’t even get Selected so what’s the harm?” 

Sirius opened and shut his mouth a few times but Harry knew that he had won the argument. Truthfully, he knew there was no chance of him being Selected. The Malfoys only married pure-bloods regardless of how much they professed to care about Muggles and there was no way the prince would even look twice at a half-blood like Harry, especially not the half-blood foster son of a blood traitor and a werewolf. Still, the Selection only took place once every generation and this was likely Harry’s only chance to give his family the help they deserved before he had to worry about his own future. 

Eventually, after probably realizing that there was nothing he could say to change Harry’s mind, Sirius stormed out of the kitchen while grumbling darkly under his breath. Harry swallowed and slowly turned to Remus, who had been suspiciously quiet for the past few minutes. “Are you going to try to talk me out of it, too?” he asked. 

Remus put down his cup of tea and let out a deep sigh. “No, Harry, because I can see where you’re coming from.” He looked down at his hands. “And, as much as I hate to say it, I agree with you.” 

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Harry tried to joke, “I’ll be of age soon and it’s about time I start earning my keep around here.” 

Remus smiled sadly at him and reached out to ruffle his hair, earning a squawk of protest. “That’s just it; the last thing Sirius and I want is for you to feel responsible for us. We are your guardians, you know.” He sighed again. “But we love you and will always support you, even if that means implicitly supporting a barbaric tradition. Give Sirius time, he’ll come around.” In Remus-speak, that translated to: “Let me handle your godfather. It won’t be easy but I’ll persuade him.” 

Harry stood up to embrace Remus in a tight hug. “Thank you,” he said. 

Remus kissed his forehead. “Anything for you, love. And who knows? Maybe you’ll be one of the lucky thirty-five.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, right. When pigs fly, maybe.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m still not happy about this,” grumbled Sirius as he signed the consent form that gave underage wizards and witches permission from their guardians to enter the Selection. “But I won’t stop you. Just promise me that you won’t actually get Selected, please?”
> 
> Harry laughed and took the form from his godfather. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments and kudos, everyone! I'm almost done with the fourth chapter but I wanted to upload this one now that I'm back in good ole London town after taking a short trip to the Continent. For those who have read The Selection, you might find Narcissa's lines in this chapter familiar because they were lifted straight from the first book. Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it! (read: throwing Harry from the pan and into the fire)

Harry considered himself very lucky that the notice came on a Friday because it took all of Saturday and part of Sunday for Remus to finally convince Sirius to let him register. “I’m still not happy about this,” grumbled Sirius as he signed the consent form that gave underage wizards and witches permission from their guardians to enter the Selection. “But I won’t stop you. Just promise me that you won’t actually get Selected, please?”

Harry laughed and took the form from his godfather. “I promise.”

The next day, after Sirius and Remus left for work, Harry finished filling out the rest of the forms before going to the Ministry via the Knight Bus. Once he arrived, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he took in the queue to the visitors’ entrance. It was filled with young witches and wizards around Harry’s age, all of whom were clutching forms that were identical to the ones in Harry’s hands. 

Harry exhaled in frustration as he joined the back of the queue and settled in for a long wait, wishing that he’d thought to bring a small chair with him. It was one thing to joke about hundreds of witches and wizards registering for the Selection but another to actually be confronted by it in reality. He shouldn’t have been surprised, though. He might have been raised by Muggles for almost half his life but one of the first things he learned about the secretive wizarding world was how much the Selection meant to its people.

He was unfortunately reminded of that fact in painstaking detail when the group of witches in front of him began to chatter and giggle loudly about what they would do if any of them were Selected. Harry grimaced as he learned far too much about fantasies involving what he considered to be too many balls and parties. If, by some act of one or multiple gods, he were Selected, he’d probably spend most of his time eating. 

Finally, after standing in the queue for nearly two hours, it was Harry’s turn to hand his forms to one of the witches at the registration desk. She carefully scanned them before putting them into an envelope, sealing it with a charm, and stamping it with the royal family seal. “Alright, Mr. Potter, everything looks to be in order. I just need you to step into that room when your name is called so you can have your picture taken. You can wait on the bench until it’s your turn but it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.” She gestured to a door behind her and the bench beside it.

Harry nodded and made his way to the back of the queue once again, trying to smooth down his messy black hair as much as he could. It was inevitably a lost cause. While he wasn’t actively trying to look good enough to get Selected like some of the more heavily made up witches and wizards he’d seen, he could admit to himself that just knowing that the royal family would be able to see his face and judge him by it made him nervous.

When he was finally called up, Harry was surprised to recognize the photographer. “Colin Creevey? What are you doing here?”

“Hiya, Harry!” exclaimed the younger boy. “I got a summer job with Ms. Ross, the photographer, and she put me in charge of taking photos for today.” Colin puffed his chest out in obvious pride. “You’re not the first Hogwarts student I’ve seen today but I’m really glad you’re entering. If anyone should be Selected, it should be you.” 

“Um, thanks? But I really wouldn’t count on that happening,” said Harry. After hexing a group of bullies who tried to steal Colin’s camera in second year and dealing with his hero-worship since then, Harry was mostly accustomed to his fawning by now. Mostly.

“Well, good luck anyway,” said Colin. “Alright, just sit on the stool and smile at the camera. A little bigger, Harry, you need to look excited. Hmm…” Colin looked up from his camera and narrowed his eyes at Harry, who squirmed uncomfortably at the younger boy’s scrutinization.

“What? Is there something on my face?” He reached up to rub at any dirt that might have gotten on his nose.

“No, nothing like that. It’s just that I was wondering if you could take your glasses off. They’re not bad or anything but I can’t really see your eyes that well with them on,” explained Colin.

Harry sighed but took them off anyway, rubbing his eyes at the sudden blurriness that assaulted his vision. He squinted at the Colin-shaped blob. “How’s this?”

Even without his glasses, Harry could see the other wizard beaming at him. “Much better.” He ducked behind his camera again. “Remember to smile, Harry. No, no, not just with your mouth, you have to smile with your eyes, too. Put some emotion behind them,” added Colin.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Colin was a good kid, really, but Harry could only handle him in small doses.

After racking his brain for a few seconds, Harry focused on the memory of celebrating Remus’s thirty-seventh birthday back in March. Even though it was a quiet celebration with just Harry, Sirius, and Remus at Grimmauld Place, Harry remembered feeling content as he and Sirius sang Happy Birthday, loudly and completely off-key, while Remus’s warm laugh washed over them.

“Perfect! Hold it right there.” Colin’s voice sounded far away. “Aaand one, two, three…”

The flash was blinding.

* * *

The names of the Selected were to be revealed two weeks after the registration deadline. Harry was personally impressed by the quick turnaround time; he thought that registering early had been nightmarish enough but apparently, according to the _Prophet_ , it was nothing compared to the day of the deadline. The queue had gone around the Ministry building twice and there were still witches and wizards trying to jump in merely minutes before noon. He couldn’t imagine processing that many people in a month, let alone two weeks.

After casually mentioning that he had registered for the Selection during a Floo call with Ron, Harry found out that his best friend had also chosen to defer his last year at Hogwarts. However, unlike Harry, it was to work as a guard at the palace during the Selection. Harry cursed himself for only hearing about the influx of vacancies at the palace after the deadline already passed. Sirius would not have been happy about him working directly for the Malfoys either but he wouldn’t have put up too much of a fuss about it. And Harry would have had a much better chance of getting hired as Guard Number 240 than being Selected.

“At least you have a chance,” Ron tried to cheer him up. “Not that I would’ve entered anyway, but the Weasleys are blood traitors, remember? The prince would’ve scrapped my picture as soon as he saw my ugly mug. But you’re the last of the Potters and sort of related to the queen since you’re Sirius’s godson. He’ll probably at least think about you for longer than a second before binning your application.”

Harry laughed at that. “Gee, thanks, Ron. You sure know how to make a bloke feel special.” Privately, he couldn’t help being disappointed at the prospect of going through his last year at Hogwarts without his best friend at his side.

It was only a matter of time before Molly got wind of Harry entering the Selection and decided that he, Sirius, and Remus had to be at the Burrow to watch the announcement with the rest of the Weasley family, including Charlie, who was on a rare holiday home from Romania. As much as the three men didn’t care about the Selection, none of them were going to turn down an offer to enjoy the feast that Molly Weasley was guaranteed to prepare for that night. To her husband’s chagrin, she was unabashedly excited about the upcoming festivities.

Approximately ten minutes before the announcement, everyone squeezed into the Burrow’s small living room, jostling for the best spot in front of the Floo. Someone waved their wand at it, causing the flames to flare up and the image of a clock counting down the minutes appeared.

“I hope you’ll still remember us little people when you’re being waited on hand and foot at your comfy new palace, Your Majesty,” Ginny joked as she winked at Harry. 

Harry groaned as everyone burst out laughing. As soon as he'd walked through the door, the twins stuck a pink paper crown on his head and refused to address him as anything other than “Your Majesty.” It caught on quickly and even Sirius joined in the fun. 

At precisely eight o’clock, Rita Skeeter’s smirking face replaced the image of the clock in the Floo. The lighthearted chatter that filled the room came to an abrupt halt as Skeeter gave a brief update of recent events before presenting the royal family sitting on the stage behind her.

There was a close-up of King Lucius’s hard face as he gave a generic speech about how much he looked forward to the Selection. Sirius and Arthur booed loudly and threw crumbs at his face, much to Harry and the Weasley children’s amusement. They stopped when Molly swatted the back of their heads.

Next, Prince Draco’s face appeared and Harry found himself sitting up a bit straighter at the sight of him. He had to admit that the prince was handsome, if a bit pointy, but the haughty sneer that seemed perpetually attached to his face definitely turned him off. It’s a good thing he has the Selection, Harry thought, otherwise he’d never convince anyone to marry him with that attitude.

“Look, Harry, it’s your future husband,” cried Fred. “Have fun dealing with that git for the rest of your life.”

“It’s not going to be me,” Harry sang.

“You’d think he’d look happier now that he’ll finally be getting some,” said George seriously. “But no, he still looks like he’s got a stick up his arse, and not a particularly pleasurable one, either.”

Percy looked scandalized. “For goodness’ sake, have some respect!”

“ _So, Prince Draco,_ ” Skeeter simpered, “ _did you happen to get a glimpse of any of the Selected before tonight?_ ”

“ _No, I haven’t, actually,_ ” Prince Draco replied smoothly, looking directly at the camera, “ _but I’m just as excited to find out at the same time as all of you._ ”

A loud snort came from Arthur’s direction. “Well, if there’s one thing I can say about our future king, it’s that he’s at least a good liar. He’ll need that.”

“ _Your Majesty, do you have any advice for the Selected before we reveal their names?_ ” 

Queen Narcissa smiled at the camera. She looked much softer than her husband and son but there was a dangerous glint of steel in her eyes. “ _My only advice is this: enjoy your last night as an average witch or wizard. Tomorrow, no matter what, your life will never be the same. And remember: just be yourself._ ”

“Wasn’t she the one who sabotaged half the witches in her year?” asked Bill.

“Yep,” answered Sirius. “Spiked their drinks with a Fungiface Potion in the middle of a banquet. They could never prove it was her but that was definitely my cousin’s handiwork.” 

“ _And with that, let’s reveal the thirty-five lucky witches and wizards for this Selection!_ ”

The flames flared up again, dissolving the stage from view and leaving an empty space for pictures of the Selected to appear. The prince's face popped up in the upper left-hand corner. Everyone would be watching for his reactions as much as they would be watching to see who their future royal consort might be. 

Skeeter’s voice rang out from the Floo, “ _Miss Hannah Abbott!_ ”

Ron and Harry gave a cheer for their Hufflepuff classmate as her image appeared. Harry saw Prince Draco nod in approval, though his face gave nothing else away. 

Skeeter continued calling out names alphabetically, pausing for a few seconds between each of them. Harry was not surprised to recognize most of them, as only a Hogwarts student or recent graduate could be Selected, given the age restriction. “ _Miss Cho Chang!_ ”

Remus nudged Harry. “Hey, isn’t that the girl you had a crush on in your fourth year?”

“ _Mr. Cedric Diggory!_ ”

From Harry’s other side, Sirius said, “And isn’t that the boy you also had a crush on in your fourth year?”

Harry hid his face in his hands, not even bothering to deny either of them.

When the Patil twins from Harry and Ron’s year were announced, Ron let out a low whistle. “Bloody hell, I kind of feel sorry for the prince if he ends up having to choose between those two.”

Harry turned to share an amused grin with Ron. “Knowing them, there’ll probably be–-”

“ _Mr. Harry James Potter!_ ”

Harry whipped around to stare at the Floo in shock. Sure enough, there was his picture in the fireplace for the whole country to see. His dark hair, in a rare instance of cooperation, looked like it had been artfully tousled to produce the ‘just had sex’ look that Harry’s father always seemed to achieve with no effort in his photos. But his eyes--his mother’s bright green eyes were what really stood out against his tanned skin now that they were no longer hidden behind his glasses. Although Harry considered himself an alright looking bloke, he was shocked by how good he looked while wearing that warm smile on his face.

His eyes made their way to Prince Draco, who, once again, only nodded his approval. There was a slight curl to his lips that may have been a pleased smile but Harry dismissed it as his imagination. 

There was a second of stunned silence.

Then, several things happened at once.

Molly and Ginny started screaming; the twins whooped and suddenly released a handful of mini fireworks from out of nowhere; Bill and Charlie wrapped their arms around each other’s shoulders and started bellowing, ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’; Ron choked on his drink so hard he nearly fell off the couch; Arthur and Percy kept looking back and forth from the Floo to Harry, too stunned to do anything.

And the Blacks--

Harry kept still as he glanced at his godfather and Remus, afraid of what their reaction would be. Sirius sat frozen in his chair with his jaw dropped and eyes locked on the Floo in disbelief even as Skeeter called out the next contestant (“ _Mr. Adrian Pucey!_ ”). Remus was no better, even though he had more control over his expressions than his husband did. The only thing that gave away his shock was his rapid blinking.

Eventually, Sirius turned to Harry with a weak smile. “Congratulations, kid,” he said, “Looks like you’re heading to the palace after all.”

Harry’s heart sank somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Should you win, you will, of course, marry Prince Draco and take on all the rights and responsibilities of a royal consort. Do you understand?”
> 
> Harry nodded and exhaled shakily, “Yes.” Out of all the rules, the last one was the one he was least worried about. It was everything else--the other contestants, the cameras, and the expectations that concerned him the most. He was already somewhat well known in the wizarding world because of his parents’ gruesome deaths when he was barely a year old and he hated what little attention he got from that. He couldn’t imagine staying in the spotlight as a consort for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay; real life got in the way of things, as real life does, but everything is (mostly) settled for now and it shouldn't take too long for me to upload the next chapter. There's a bit of exposition in this chapter and if you have read the first book, you'll definitely recognize some of the dialogue, but I promise this will be the last time I'm directly copying from the books. Please enjoy and thank you so much for all your wonderful comments and kudos!

Owls descended upon Grimmauld Place at an hourly basis after the announcement. Harry was rapidly coming to the alarming conclusion that his well-wishers were comprised of everyone he’d ever met or even made eye contact with since Sirius and Remus adopted him. The living room was practically inaccessible now that it was filled from floor to ceiling with letters and even a few small gifts.

Shortly after returning from the Burrow on the night of the announcement, Sirius and Remus had an argument in their bedroom, which Harry was only able to catch bits and pieces of while lingering on the landing. Sirius wanted to forcibly withdraw Harry from the competition to “keep the Malfoys’ dirty hands off of him,” but Remus reminded him that registering for the Selection was, in itself, a magically binding contract.

“We did talk about this happening, you know,” he added. “As I recall, Harry actually had a pretty good plan.”

“That was because we didn’t think that _my godson_ would actually get _picked_!” Sirius hissed. “I knew I shouldn’t have signed that damn consent form.”

Harry heard someone shuffling across the floor and assumed it was Remus. “What’s done is done,” he said calmly. “I don’t like this either but...think about the money, Sirius. You can’t deny that we need it.”

A beat. Harry barely caught Sirius’s soft “I know.” His sigh echoed with exhaustion. “I just hate that he’s even being forced to parade himself like that. You know what my family was like and the Malfoys are a hundred times worse. What if they hurt him?”

Harry’s hand automatically flew to his wand in his pocket. He knew that nasty fights and even nastier duels broke out between the Selected all the time but he never thought they’d be in any danger from the royal family themselves. But if what Sirius was saying was true, and Sirius had every reason to be worried after the childhood he went through, then Harry probably had the most to lose out of all the contestants. Not only was he a half-blood, he was a _Muggle-raised_ half-blood.

And he was going to be trapped in a palace with a bunch of bigoted pure-bloods for who knew how long.

“He’ll have Ron with him, at least. And you know he’ll do his best to protect Harry.”

What the hell had he been thinking, entering the Selection like he could actually last longer than a day? And how did he even get picked in the first place?

He couldn’t do it. It was impossible. It--

The door opened with a creak, breaking Harry out of his building hysteria.

“Harry?” Remus called out softly. “You alright?”

Harry hastily straightened himself. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I was just going to put some water out for Hedwig.” He swallowed and knew right away that Remus could see that he was nervous--more than nervous, terrified.

Thankfully, Remus pretended not to notice, though his eyes softened in sympathy. “Of course. Get some sleep, love. I’m sure we’ll be expecting someone from the Ministry some time tomorrow.”

True to Remus’s word, they received a visitor from the Ministry the very next day. She was a short, plump, and painfully cheerful Indian woman named Ishani. “Oh, you seem to have a lot of fans already,” she exclaimed upon entering the living room and seeing all the letters and gifts scattered on the floor. Harry and Remus had given up on trying to sort them after a solid hour of doing so with little progress.

After Remus made tea for everyone, they all sat down at the kitchen table with Ishani on one side and the Blacks on the other. Harry almost burst out laughing hysterically at the surreal experience of sitting in the same spot he was in more than a month ago when he first brought up the idea of entering the Selection. Only this time, instead of joking with Sirius and Remus about it, he was now facing the daunting reality of actually competing.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” chirped Ishani. She waved her wand and an intimidatingly large stack of parchment dropped down on the table in front of her. “Like I said earlier, I’m here to go over the official rules with you and make a note of anything you might require during the Selection. They’re all pretty straightforward but please don’t hesitate to stop me if you have any questions. Is everything clear so far?”

Harry nodded numbly. He relaxed slightly when Sirius placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard as if to say, “ _It’s okay, we’re here for you._ ”

“Brilliant. Now, once you arrive at the palace, you will not be able to leave of your own accord. You have to be dismissed by the prince himself. Not even the king and queen can force you out. They are, of course, entitled to advise the prince on the candidates they deem suitable or unsuitable, but ultimately the decision is up to him. However, in the event that you are found breaking any laws during the competition, you will automatically be dismissed and receive the punishment tied to that offense. Your status as one of the Selected does not put you above the law.

“There is no set timeline for the Selection. It can be over in a matter of days or years. While it is unlikely that the prince will let it go on that long, should he choose to, you will be required to stay for as long as he needs to make his choice. As you are still a student at Hogwarts, you will be allowed to extend your deferral for however long is necessary, so there’s no need to worry about your education.”

Harry fervently hoped that it would be over in a few days, that he’d get lucky and the prince would instantly fall madly in love with one of the other contestants, thus ending the whole thing before the first week is even out. He _really_ wasn’t looking forward to being trapped in the palace for years.

“Next, you do not arrange your times with the prince. He will seek you out for one-on-one company if he wants it. If you are in a larger social setting and he is present, that is different. But you do not go to him without invitation.

“While you are not expected to get along with the other contestants, you are not to fight with them or sabotage them…”

Sirius let out a quiet snort that he quickly covered with a cough. Harry had to resist smiling as he remembered his anecdote about Queen Narcissa and the Fungiface Potion. She clearly hadn’t been deterred by that rule.

“...If you are found laying hands on another contestant, hexing them, causing them stress, stealing from them, or doing anything else that might negatively affect their relationship with the prince, it is in his hands whether or not to dismiss you on the spot. The only exception to this rule is an official duel that must take place in full view of the prince and at least one other witness, and that both parties had consented to beforehand.

“You must not wear any clothes or eat any food that is not specifically provided for you by the palace. This is a security issue and will be strictly enforced.”

Stupidly, Harry could only focus on the fact that he wouldn’t be able to have any of Molly’s delicious cooking while he was at the palace. Possibly for years. It bothered him more than any of the other rules had.

“You will be required to be present on Fridays for the weekly broadcasts. There will also be cameras monitoring the contestants on a daily basis. The only rooms in the palace that will not have cameras in them are the royal family’s private suites, which you are forbidden from entering, and your own room. However, you are encouraged to ignore them and act normally.”

Harry wanted to roll his eyes. There was no way he could ignore having his privacy invaded like that. It was also no secret that the contestants were expected to cause at least some drama. Not enough to completely drive the prince away, but enough to keep the public interested. He suddenly remembered that Lavender Brown, Ron’s ex-girlfriend, was one of the contestants, and grimaced.

“For each week you stay at the palace, your family will be compensated. I will give you your first cheque before I leave.” Ishani paused to wink at Harry. “Don’t spend it all at once now.”

Sirius mumbled something about adding extra bolts to his vaults but Ishani either didn’t hear or chose to politely ignore him.

“Should you make it to the top seven, you will be considered an Elite. Once you reach that status, you will be required to learn about the particular inner workings of the life and obligations you would have as a consort. You are not permitted to seek out such details before that time. And should you win, you will, of course, marry Prince Draco and take on all the rights and responsibilities of a royal consort. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded and exhaled shakily, “Yes.” Out of all the rules, the last one was the one he was least worried about. It was everything else--the other contestants, the cameras, and the expectations that concerned him the most. He was already somewhat well known in the wizarding world because of his parents’ gruesome deaths when he was barely a year old and he hated what little attention he got from that. He couldn’t imagine staying in the spotlight as a consort for the rest of his life.

“Brilliant! The only thing left to do now is for you to sign this form saying you’ve heard all the official rules and for Mr. Black…” Ishani beamed at Sirius, “...to sign this form saying you have received your cheque.”

Harry heard Remus gasp and Sirius swear when they saw the sum, and he pushed his doubts as far away from the forefront of his mind as he could. He just needed to suck it up and stay in the Selection as long as he could--not for himself, but for his family.

* * *

By either luck or fate, though Harry was leaning more towards fate laughing at him for his shitty luck, the Selection would officially begin two days after Harry’s birthday, which meant that he had to leave Grimmauld Place on the day after his birthday. What made it worse was there was going to be a full moon on that night.

As far as birthday presents went, Harry had gotten better from the Dursleys.

The Weasleys came over to Grimmauld Place for his birthday but it was a subdued celebration. Ron had already gone to Wiltshire to start his training and Charlie had left for Romania shortly after the Selected were announced. Their party was further diminished by Remus’s departure for the cellar later that evening with his Wolfsbane Potion in hand.

He gave Harry a tight hug and kissed his hair before he left. “It’s alright, you’re going to be fine. Never forget that we love you and that we’re proud of you.”

Harry could only nod in response as he squeezed back, knowing that he’ll only start crying if he opened his mouth.

Rationally, he knew that Sirius and Remus would be waiting for him when he inevitably got kicked out of the Selection, but a small, ugly part of him that shared Vernon Dursley’s voice was terrified that he was going to lose his family as soon as he got on the train tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Harry had known that, on some level, his life was going to be different now, it hadn’t quite hit him until this moment that he really was saying goodbye to his lower middle class background, replacing it with something he never even thought to dream about before. At least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the delay, everyone! As if having a cold last week wasn't enough, I've been swamped at work for the past few days. BUT I can promise that, after this chapter, our boys are FINALLY!! GOING!! TO MEET!!
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for your wonderful comments and kudos. ❤️❤️

The next morning was unusually sunny for London but it did nothing to improve Harry’s miserable mood. Sirius had gone to check on Remus during breakfast to see if he was up for accompanying them to King’s Cross but when he came back alone with a deep frown on his face, Harry knew that wasn’t happening.

“He’ll write to you as soon as he’s able to,” Sirius promised. “We both will.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Harry as he despondently stirred his porridge.

The time to leave came far too soon in Harry’s opinion. He packed as much as he could into his school trunk, along with a sleeping Hedwig in her cage. They drove to King’s Cross in Sirius’s motorcycle instead of Apparating so they could squeeze in as much time together as they could before saying goodbye. 

The inside of the station was unusually cold and grey that day--or at least it was to Harry. He almost walked right into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters out of habit until Sirius gently steered him in the direction of Platform Four.

Platform Four normally had trains coming in from Watton-at-Stone that went northbound to St Neots. Today, there would only be one train going through it, taking its thirty-five occupants to Wiltshire instead.

As soon as Harry and Sirius stepped through the barriers, they were assaulted by camera flashes and voices shouting at them from every direction.

“Look, there’s another one!” One of them yelled. “It’s Harry Potter!”

Harry swallowed as a crowd of journalists, kept back only by a thin magical roll of tape with the word ‘PRESS’ on it, all turned to him at once with predatory eyes. Sirius tightened his hold around Harry’s shoulder and started pulling him towards the train, but not before a few reporters began bombarding him with questions.

“Mr. Potter, how are you feeling right now? Nervous? Excited?”

“What do you think are your chances of winning the Selection, Mr. Potter?”

“How do you feel about being the only half-blood in the Selection?”

“Mr. Potter, do you think that perhaps you’re at a disadvantage because of your guardians?”

Harry halted. Ignoring Sirius’s hand squeezing his shoulder, he turned around to glare at the reporter, who was leering at him like he’d just won the lottery. He was about as tall as Sirius, sporting a dirty beard and a heavily receding hairline. “What did you say?” Harry said, stepping closer to the wizard.

None of the other journalists spoke, keeping their eyes trained on Harry and holding their quills and notepads readily in their hands.

Hairline’s grin widened. “It’s no secret that your godfather…” he jerked his head at Sirius, “...was disowned by the Blacks, incidentally the very same family Her Majesty the Queen is a member of, when he married a werewolf. Not to mention you’re the only half-blood in the competition. Do you think all these factors put you at a disadvantage?" 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “ _No_ , I don’t.”

“And why is that?”

“Because my blood status has nothing to do with my skill as a wizard,” Harry growled, taking a step closer to Hairline. “And who raised me doesn’t matter, either. My guardians took me in when no one, not even my blood relatives, wanted me. So no, I don’t really put much stock in blood statuses or family lines.”

With that, Harry whipped away and marched towards the platform, ignoring the journalists’ shouts.

When they were a safe distance away, Sirius sighed. “You shouldn’t have done that, kiddo.”

“I couldn’t just let them talk about you and Remus like that,” Harry retorted.

Sirius smiled and ruffled his hair affectionately. “I know, and it’s something that your parents wouldn’t have stood for, either. But you do realize that winning the public’s opinion is going to be just as important as winning the prince’s favour, right?”

“Don’t worry,” Harry muttered. “It’s not like I’ll need either for very long.”

They stopped just a few feet away from where the rest of the Selected and their family and friends were gathered. Sirius grabbed both of Harry’s shoulders, turning him so they were facing each other. “It’s not too late to back out now,” he said quietly. His eyes darted toward a witch with a clipboard making her way towards them. “And I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen, I promise.”

Harry swallowed. He was reminded once again of how extraordinarily lucky he was that he had a godfather like Sirius. Maybe Sirius wasn’t what most people would call a fit parent, but he loved Harry and that was all that ever mattered to him. As much as he yearned to be back in his bed at Grimmauld Place right now, he knew that he couldn’t make Sirius put himself on the line just because Harry was a coward. He reminded himself of the sizeable cheque Sirius and Remus had deposited at Gringotts and his resolve strengthened. “It’s okay,” he replied, shaking his head. “You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

Sirius sniffed and wrapped his arms around Harry in a tight embrace. “But it’s my job to worry, kiddo.” He pulled back a bit but kept his arms around Harry in a protective grip. “Write to us as soon as you get to the palace, alright? Otherwise I’ll be forced to assume that you fell off the train or something and have to fly to goddamn Wiltshire to get you.”

The witch with the clipboard cleared her throat and gave Sirius a suspicious look before turning to Harry with a wide smile. “Mr. Potter?”

“Um, yeah, that’s me,” he stammered out.

The witch hummed and scribbled something on her clipboard. “Brilliant. Alright, dear, you’ll be in Coach Number Eight with Ms. and Ms. Patil, and Mr. Pucey. Let me just give you a tag for your luggage, which you can leave here. Someone will be along in a minute to collect it.” She produced a small tag with a flick of her wand and handed it to Harry. “There now. And just to let you know, the train departs in ten minutes. Have a safe trip!” She then turned around and approached a nervous looking contestant who looked like she’d just stumbled out of the barrier not long after Harry and Sirius did.

Harry squinted. He was sure that was Megan Jones, a Hufflepuff girl in his year that he rarely spoke to. He scanned the rest of the contestants; everyone seemed to be keeping their distance from each other and, like Harry, sizing up one another. He bristled when a few of them--Slytherins, he knew--haughtily turned their noses up at him but forced himself to ignore them. He knew that he was an unconventional choice for the Selection but he wasn’t about to be the first contestant to get kicked out before the competition even started for getting into fights.

“Don’t worry about them,” said Sirius. He bared his teeth at the Slytherins, who instantly turned away and pretended they didn’t see him. “Those pure-blood brats like to talk the talk but none of them can cast a decent spell for shit.”

“Didn’t you use to be one of them?” Harry teased.

Sirius ruffled his hair. “You shut your mouth,” he said fondly. 

A shrill whistle shrieked through the platform and a woman’s voice announced through a _Sonorus_ : “ _Attention all Selected, the train will depart in five minutes. Please make your way to your assigned coach immediately._ ”

When Harry and Sirius reached the correct coach, Harry turned to face Sirius with a heavy weight in his stomach. “I’ll be okay,” he said, trying to sound convincing for both his godfather and himself.

Sirius pulled him into a tight hug. “Love you, kiddo. Take care of yourself.”

Harry nodded shakily. “Love you too, Padfoot. And I will.”

He reluctantly began climbing the steps with Hedwig’s cage under one arm when the witch with the clipboard suddenly appeared as if by Apparation. “So sorry, dear,” she said, smiling apologetically, “I completely forgot to tell you this earlier but I’m afraid you can’t bring your owl with you as it could potentially pose a security threat. However, there will be plenty of owls you can use at the palace.”

Before Harry could protest, she grabbed Hedwig’s cage and handed it to a stunned Sirius.

Harry whipped around. “But she’s-–”

The shrill whistle from earlier echoed through the air just before the door slammed shut, sealing Harry away from Sirius and Hedwig.

He could only watch helplessly as Sirius mouthed something at him and Hedwig stared forlornly at him through the thin glass of the window. He bit his bottom lip when the train started moving and the distance between himself and his family grew wider and wider until Sirius was only a dot at the edge of the platform.

“You really do care about that owl, huh?”

Harry turned around and found himself face to face with Parvati Patil. 

No, not Parvati. “Padma, hey,” he said, trying to summon a polite smile for his classmate and fellow competitor. “Um, yeah, how’d you figure?”

Padma shrugged. “Besides what happened just now? I remember my sister telling me about how you snuck out of class in Fifth Year to get her to Professor Grubbly-Plank when she was injured.”

Harry remembered that incident; despite Professor Grubbly-Plank’s assurances that Hedwig’s accidental run-in with a Thestral was far from fatal, he spent the rest of the week worrying about her until Grubbly-Plank finally returned her to him in perfect condition. He spent the following week visiting Hedwig in the Owlery every day to feed her plenty of treats. Hedwig had taken the pampering in stride as if it had been owed her all along. 

“She was a gift from my godfather,” Harry answered sheepishly. He didn’t elaborate that she was the very first gift he’d ever received from _anyone_. The last thing he wanted was to be pitied.

Padma gave him an understanding smile. “I can see why you’re so protective of him, even though what you did was stupid.”

Harry blinked, confused. “What?”

Padma sighed and gestured for him to follow her.

Harry’s eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets as he took in the size of the coach. Calling it massive would be an exaggeration but the interior was definitely about the same size as the kitchen in Grimmauld Place, and Grimmauld Place itself was already quite large. It was lavishly decorated with a burgundy wallpaper that looked like it could’ve been ripped out of Claridge’s own walls and an actual chandelier that Harry was sure had come straight from Buckingham Palace.

As he scanned the room, he realized that neither Padma’s sister or Adrian Pucey could be found. When he turned to ask Padma about them she just shrugged.

“I don’t know about Pucey, though I suspect he’s with the other Slytherins, but my sister went to look for Lavender as soon as we got on the train. She should be back soon.”

She steered Harry towards one of the four plush antique chairs occupying the centre of the coach. There was a glass table in the middle filled with a luxurious afternoon tea set that looked like it belonged in a Fortnum and Mason catalog. Although Harry had known that, on some level, his life was going to be different now, it hadn’t quite hit him until this moment that he really was saying goodbye to his lower middle class background, replacing it with something he never even thought to dream about before. At least for now.

When they were both seated, Padma pointed her wand to a small Floo attached to the other end of the coach and it lit up, showing an image of Harry and Sirius just stepping out of the barrier to Platform Four and being assaulted by the journalists. Harry cringed as he heard himself raise his voice against the reporter who had the gall to ask him about his ‘disadvantage.’

He still stood by what he said but he could now see what he looked like to the hundreds of people watching: an angry, troubled half-blood with a chip on his shoulder.

Padma confirmed it. “On the bright side, you’ll probably be guaranteed a spot in the competition for the next little while. Everyone loves a rebel.” She grinned at Harry. “Just be careful not to go over the top with your ‘woe is me, I’m a half-blood orphan’ routine--people get tired of the same thing easily.”

“I wasn’t going over the top and there is _no_ routine,” Harry retorted. He paused and glanced around the coach, suddenly remembering Ishani’s words about the competitors being filmed at all times. “Er, are you sure we’re allowed to talk about the Selection so openly like that?”

Padma chuckled, nicking a tiny sandwich from the tea set and leaning back in her seat across from Harry. “Don’t worry, I checked for cameras earlier and there aren’t any on the train. They won’t even start filming us properly until tomorrow, I reckon, which is when we’ll actually meet the prince”

Harry’s stomach grumbled and he reached for a sandwich as well. “How do you know that?” he asked. He felt a bit of the weight in his stomach evaporate at her words. Even though he had less than twenty-four hours to prepare for the cameras, at least he didn’t have to worry about making himself even halfway presentable as soon as he stepped off the train.

“Because I actually did my research before coming here,” Padma answered. “There may be twenty to thirty years’ difference between each Selection but there is a pattern.” Her playful smirk reminded Harry achingly of Sirius. “If you know to look for it.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll share some tips with me then?” said Harry, only half seriously. He definitely needed all the help he could get if he was going to survive even one day in the Selection.

Padma shrugged. “I don’t mind. You seem like a good sort.” Harry could tell from her tone, having heard it many times in Remus’s voice, that this wasn’t the whole truth. Still, he never detected any malice from Padma while at Hogwarts and his instincts were usually right.

He smiled warmly at Padma, who winked at him. “Thanks,” he said.

Maybe he could survive the Selection after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry lowered his wand and narrowed his eyes. He didn’t recognize the voice and the chances of the other boy being a guard was unlikely. It had to be one of the Selected, since it looked like he had been present during Snape’s memorable speech. Aside from the house elves, the contestants were the only other people in the room at the time. “That’s quite a bold statement coming from someone who’s in the same boat as me,” Harry shot back.
> 
> The boy chuckled again and the coarse sound made Harry bristle. “Not exactly,” he said.
> 
> “Not exactly, what?”
> 
> “I’m afraid we’re not exactly on the same boat. In fact, I’d go as far as to say we might even be oceans apart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly sorry for taking so long to update. Aside from work being work, I had some family related issues to deal with, but everything's fine now and I promise that you'd have to pry this fic from my cold dead hands before I give up on it. Thank you so much to everyone who left a comment or a kudos--I know I've been terrible about replies but please believe me when I say that it means a lot to me.
> 
> Work is going to start picking up again but I'm going to set myself a schedule of updating this at least once a month. In the meantime, please enjoy!
> 
> (and if you ever want to yell about drarry or, really, any and all HP related things, my [Tumblr](http://quiddatively.tumblr.com) is always open ❤)

Parvati appeared a few minutes later. “Oh, Harry!” she exclaimed as she swooped down and embraced Harry tightly like a long lost friend rather than the casual acquaintance he really was. “I’m so excited that there’s another Gryffindor in the Selection! Did you know that Lavender and Cormac McLaggen are the only other ones? We’ll have to stick together to show those Slytherins what we’re made of.”

“Speaking of Gryffindors and Slytherins,” said Padma, smoothing her skirt, “how do the rest look?”

Parvati flopped down in the chair beside Harry’s like she belonged there all along. “I can guarantee that most, if not all, the Slytherins are going to end up in the Elite. I’d bet a Galleon that Pansy Parkinson brought her own tiara--that girl is _that_ confident she’s going to win and, as much as I hate to say it, I can believe that.”

Harry looked back and forth between the sisters, feeling very much out of his depth. “Why do you say that?”

“Because her family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and she’s Prince Draco’s childhood friend,” answered Padma dismissively. “But that wasn’t unexpected. What about the rest?”

“None of the Hufflepuffs are going to last a day except maybe Cedric Diggory, and that’s only because he’s so handsome.”

Harry’s cheeks grew warm at the mention of his former crush. “Hey,” he interrupted, feeling strangely obligated to defend the older boy despite not having seen him since the last end-of-year feast, “Cedric has other good qualities! He won the Triwizard Cup in Fourth Year, remember?”

Parvati snorted. “Yeah, _with Cho Chang’s help_.” She turned to her sister. “While we’re on the subject, she might just be your biggest competition from the Ravenclaws--she’s the ideal pure-blood wife, except she’s actually got a brain inside that lovely head of hers.”

Padma shrugged but Harry caught her eyes gleaming for just a second. He recognized that look from seeing it on Sirius’s face countless times whenever someone, usually Remus, told him he couldn’t do something--she was excited by the challenge. “I thought as much. Anything else?”

Her sister shook her head. “Besides Cormac McLaggen, I think it’ll be the Slytherins we’ll have to worry about most in the end.”

Harry blinked. Now he _knew_ he was missing something. “Hang on, what just happened here?”

The Patil sisters shared a look that seemed to contain paragraphs before breaking into giggles. “I might have left out the fact that Parvati was also scouting the competition when she was visiting Lavender,” admitted Padma, though she looked more smug than sheepish.

“It’s amazing how talkative people can be when they think you’re just as dumb as you are pretty.” Parvati smirked, winking at her sister.

Harry looked away; he was quite guilty of that himself, despite Remus frequently emphasizing that appearances could be deceiving while he was growing up. But, he resolved, everything was going to be different now, which meant that he was going to have to adjust his attitude as well if he wanted any chance of surviving the Selection in one piece. He smiled hesitantly at the sisters, both of whom were watching him with amused expressions on their identical faces. He didn’t doubt that they were sizing him up, too.

“And what about me?” he asked. “What do you think my chances are?”

Padma chuckled, “Like I said, you’ll probably last for at least a day--everyone loves to root for the underdog even when they don’t really _expect_ the underdog to win.”

Harry let out a sudden bark of laughter that made the two girls jump. “That’s good news for me, actually,” he said. “The last thing I want is to win this damn pageant and trail after the prince for the rest of my life.”

Parvati raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow at him. “Then what are you in the Selection for if you don’t actually want to marry the prince? I mean, have you _seen_ him?” She let out a dreamy sigh.

Harry blushed and muttered something about only applying for fun. While he was growing easier in the Patil sisters’ company, he was still a long way from trusting them with the knowledge that he--no, _his family_ needed the money. “So, er, how are you two handling competing for the prince together?” he asked, trying to divert their attention.

“We made a pact,” Parvati answered brightly.

Padma nodded. “I drafted a contract, which we both signed and gave to our parents to file with our family’s solicitor before we left. If one of us won, that person will give the other half of their earnings from the Selection and unlimited access to all properties belonging to the royal family.”

“As long as the royal family allows it,” added Parvati. “And the balls, don’t forget the glamorous balls.” She looked like she was already planning what she would wear to them, regardless of the outcome of the Selection.

“And if neither of you win?” Harry wondered. The Patil sisters always seemed close to him but he knew that plenty of families had been torn apart because of the Selection in the past. He hoped that it wouldn’t happen to the girls sitting in front of him.

They both shrugged. “Then the contract is void,” explained Padma. “Although, if one of us does happen to make it further along than the other, the clause regarding their Selection earnings will still stand, but reduced from half the amount to one-third.”

Harry didn’t know what to be more surprised about: the fact that the Patil sisters actually _signed a contract_ or the fact that it made sense for them to do so. “You really put a lot of thought into this,” he said faintly. _He_ certainly hadn’t.

Parvati chuckled and patted his hand. “It was a team effort,” she said, nodding at her sister. “Padma here is the brains of the operation, I’m just here to point my wand wherever she tells me to.”

* * *

They arrived at the palace far too soon for Harry’s liking. During the ride, Harry found himself relaxing more and more in the girls’ company. He nearly forgot that he would be competing against them in the coming weeks--possibly even months--until Parvati’s excited shrieking upon catching their first glimpse of the palace forcefully reminded him of that fact.

The train came to a stop right inside the palace itself. As they all clambered out, Harry couldn’t help gawking at the sheer _enormity_ of the egg white building, which looked like it came straight out of a fairy story with its overwhelming towers and ostentatious gold ornaments. The palace was roughly the same size as Hogwarts, which Harry thought was a bit ridiculous since it housed significantly fewer people than the school did, even with the recent addition of thirty-five witches and wizards.

The clipboard witch from earlier shepherded them through a side door that was guarded by two tall wizards and into what Harry guessed was the royal equivalent of a reception area. A large chandelier about the same size as Arthur Weasley’s Ford Anglia hung above them and illuminated the hall with a soft yellow light. The witch turned to face them with a pleasant smile. “Welcome to Wiltshire Palace,” she chirped. “I know that you all must be very tired from your journey but I’m afraid there are a few things we need to go through before you can finally settle in. My colleague will be with you shortly but, in the meantime, please make yourselves at home. Your luggage will be brought up to your room.”

Once the witch Disapparated, the silent group immediately exploded with noise. Harry watched as most of his fellow competitors dispersed into different corners of the massive hall with wide eyes. As Harry ambled towards the tall bay windows by the main entrance, he could admit that he was a bit enchanted by the place as well.

The girls huddled by the window a few feet away from him were definitely smitten if their gasps of wonder were anything to go by. Harry followed their gaze to the enormous garden that laid on the other side of the window and bit his lip. It was beautiful, alright, and made him think, achingly, of Remus, whose green thumb had transformed Grimmauld Place’s rotting backyard into a proper, humble English garden in its own right.

“If I could have your attention, please,” drawled a deep, bored voice from behind.

As one, the contestants all turned to the source of it. Harry’s eyes travelled up the grand circular staircase to the wizard standing at the top of the steps. He was dressed in black, reminding Harry uncomfortably of a bat, and had shoulder-length greasy black hair.

The man swept down the stairs, his narrow eyes never leaving the group of now silent witches and wizards. When he reached the bottom step he waved his wand and produced a piece of parchment in his hand. “My name is Severus Snape and I will be your,” he curled his lips into a hard sneer, “ _chaperone_ , shall we say. I tutored His Royal Highness Prince Draco and serve as an advisor to His Royal Highness King Lucius. Now, when I call your name, step forward so I can assign you to your house elf.”

As Snape began reading out names in the same bored tone, furious whispers broke out among the contestants. Harry noticed that Pansy Parkinson was the only one who didn’t seem to be affected by what was happening around her at all. In fact, she looked downright smug and practically danced towards Snape when her name was called out. Parvati hadn’t been kidding; she really did look at home in the palace.

Unlike Harry, who definitely didn’t belong.

“Harry Potter.”

Out of the corner of Harry’s eyes, he could see the Patil sisters giving him encouraging smiles. He nervously smiled back before squaring his shoulders and making his way to the queue that had formed on either side of Snape.

Snape gave him a cool stare and looked like he wanted nothing more than to squish Harry like the bug he clearly considered him as. “Ah,” the wizard sneered, “So _you’re_ Harry Potter, our new celebrity.” He bit off the end of the word like a wand being snapped in half. Harry’s cheeks heated up as some of the other contestants snickered. “I’ll admit that your little show at the station was attention-grabbing but you are sorely mistaken if you think _that_ kind of behaviour will endear yourself to the royal family.” He sniffed, “Although, I strongly doubt that you will be here long enough to garner any attention from them.”

Harry bit his bottom lip and clenched his fists as he stomped down on the rage building up in him. He _knew_ that this kind of prejudice would be waiting for him the moment he stepped on the train but it still stung to be confronted by it.

Snape sniffed again and made a note on his parchment. “Dobby will be your personal house elf for the duration of your stay in the palace.”

At his words, a house elf appeared in front of Harry following the familiar ‘pop!’ of Apparation. Harry could instantly tell that this house elf wasn’t treated nearly as well as the ones at Hogwarts; he looked smaller than the Hogwarts elves, possibly even malnourished, and wore a ratty old pillowcase as a tunic. His hands were bandaged clumsily.

The house elf bowed so low that the tip of his nose nearly brushed against the sparkling marble floor, and Harry felt sick to his stomach. None of the other contestants paid any attention to their house elves, all of whom were in nearly identical condition. He never paid much attention to house elves before but the drastic difference between the ones he saw whenever he snuck down into the kitchens at Hogwarts for a midnight snack and the ones here was jarring.

After Snape’s roll call ended with Blaise Zabini, he cleared his throat. “You will each be served dinner at seven o’clock in your own rooms; tomorrow, you will join the royal family for breakfast in the small dining room at nine o’clock sharp, after which you will receive a tour of the palace. From then on, all your meals will be taken in the small dining room unless told otherwise.

“One last thing: while I will review the rules of the palace with all of you in more detail tomorrow at breakfast, I must stress that there is a curfew in place for all inhabitants.” He glared at them like they were already breaking the rules just by existing. “After ten o’clock in the evening, absolutely _no one_ is allowed to step foot on the grounds outside of these doors. This is for your own safety.” His robes swept dramatically behind him as he turned to ascend the stairs. “You are dismissed.”

* * *

The house elves led them up the stairs, through a long and beautifully lit hallway, and turned into what Harry assumed was the wing set aside for the Selected. The elves diverged and led their respective contestants to their assigned rooms.

“If Master Harry is following Dobby, sir,” said Dobby the house elf, bowing low to the ground again.

“You don’t have to call me that,” said Harry quickly. He shoved his hands into his pockets, self-conscious when the elf turned to him with wide eyes. “Just ‘Harry’ is fine.”

Dobby snapped out of his stupor and stammered, “Y-Yes, of course, Ma-- _Harry_ , sir.” The elf directed him to a pair of tall creamy white double doors, which swung open with a snap of his fingers.

After stepping inside the spacious suite, Harry nearly turned to Dobby to ask if there had been a mix up because there was no possible way that this was all his. It dwarfed his room back home by miles and was even bigger than Sirius and Remus’s room. On the left was a neatly made king-sized four poster bed bathed in the late afternoon sun’s rays entering through the window directly across the door.

There was a pair of double doors on the wall facing the bed, which Harry had naively assumed would lead to his neighbour’s room until Dobby opened it, revealing an actual walk-in closet that was empty save for his luggage.

“Dobby will be unpacking sir’s things now, if sir is happy with that,” the elf piped up.

“Oh! Thanks, Dobby,” said Harry.

While Dobby was occupied, Harry wandered around the room with wide eyes. He’d just finished accepting that, yes, there was both a shower and a large bath in his bathroom when there was a knock on his door.

When he opened it, he found Parvati and Padma on the other side grinning and waving at him. “Hi, Harry. Some of us were thinking of getting together in Susan’s room for dinner. Fancy coming along?”

Harry glanced back at his enormous room. As nice as the Patils were, he was exhausted from having to deal with so many people today and was more than ready to sequester himself at the desk provided in his room so he could write to Remus and Sirius, and just recharge from the day. But he also knew that the others were definitely going to wonder about his reasons for being absent if he didn’t join them for dinner.

Normally, he wouldn’t care about other people’s gossip, but this wasn’t exactly a normal situation.

Padma seemed to sense his indecision because she added, “This’ll probably be our only chance to really get to know everyone while their guard is down before the competition officially starts.”

Harry sighed and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Sounds like fun.”

* * *

Harry began to have second thoughts about his statement as soon as he entered the room. From an outsider’s perspective, the informal get-together, from which the Slytherins were notably absent, _looked_ fun enough; Harry had been pleasantly surprised and embarrassed when both Cedric and Cho said hello to him, and Susan, who was normally soft-spoken, politely asked him how his summer had been. But the atmosphere inside the room was tense with anticipation and no small amount of fear for what tomorrow would bring.

As everyone shook hands and made small talk with each other, Harry couldn’t help wondering just how much of what he was seeing right now was real and how much was fake. He instantly felt guilty for thinking so lowly of his peers, especially since many of them had shared classes with him for years.

Eventually, the meal’s conversation turned to the question that everyone had been wondering: how did _they_ get Selected?

Ernie Macmillan turned to Harry and bluntly asked, “Harry, why do you think _you_ got Selected?”

Several people winced at his words and Harry himself would have been offended if he didn’t already know that Ernie Macmillan generally meant well, though he was a bit naive at times. He just shrugged and murmured about how the prince was probably just curious before quickly excusing himself. He didn’t have much of an appetite anyway. Padma shot him an apologetic look as he left.

When he returned to his enormous empty room, alone, he went straight for the writing desk. He was already dipping his quill into his ink bottle before he even managed to get all the parchment out. He wrote to Sirius first, assuring him that he had arrived at the palace in one piece and was alright. Next, he wrote to Remus, assuring him that he was fine and asking him to keep Sirius from doing anything stupid, such as flying down to Wiltshire.

He then called for Dobby and asked for directions to the Owlery, which took some time due to the elf’s insistence on delivering Harry’s letters himself and Harry’s insistence that _he_ could manage perfectly on his own. Despite his growing irritation, he didn’t actually want to be angry with the elf for doing his job. Nonetheless, it was suffocating; the realization that this was going to be his life for at least the next few weeks, possibly even months, was slowly sinking in and it made Harry’s skin itch.

He eventually convinced the elf to let him deliver the letters himself, although Dobby was adamant that he should at least accompany Harry there in case he got lost.

Harry’s body was thrumming with restlessness when he returned to his room and bid Dobby goodnight (after assuring him three times that there was nothing else he needed). He was still wide awake and alert two hours after getting into bed. He knew he needed the rest, if not to recover from the whirlwind that was today, then to at least have enough energy to face the first day of the Selection tomorrow. But a voice that sounded an awful lot like Sirius and Ron’s mixed together was urging him to do something-- _anything_ \--rather than just lie awake in this empty, too big room.

He let out a groan of defeat before grabbing his wand and whispering, “ _Accio Firebolt_.” A few moments later his broom, having grown back to its original size, flew into his outstretched hand from the walk in closet.

Not even bothering to grab his coat, he quietly opened the window, mounted his broom, and pushed himself off the ledge, allowing his body to free fall for a few seconds before pulling up. He cast a Disillusionment charm on himself as Snape’s warnings about curfew echoed through his mind.

He closed his eyes, welcoming the rush of cool air against his face. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been cooped up inside either the train or the palace until this moment. At Hogwarts, he took every chance he could to visit Hagrid or simply wander the grounds in his spare time. During holidays in London, he often left the house a few times a week, never indoors for too long. It probably said a lot about his childhood with the Dursleys.

Harry drifted aimlessly above the grounds for a few minutes before he remembered the garden he only caught a glimpse of a few hours earlier. Armed with a purpose now, he steered his broom in the direction of the main entrance to the palace while keeping low to the ground and away from the windows.

Harry could smell the garden seconds before he actually saw it and wished that he’d had the foresight to bring a camera with him so he could share this with Remus once the Selection was over. His heart ached at the reminder that his family wouldn’t be there to greet him when he woke up tomorrow morning. Or for any of the following mornings in the near future.

Clenching his broom more tightly, Harry shoved those thoughts to the very back of his mind. He reminded himself fiercely that, even though it would take time, he _will_ see his family again. One day, he might even look back on this moment of his life and laugh about it with Ron over a pint at the Leaky.

The garden was massive--it made Hogwarts’ quidditch field look like a children’s playground in comparison. Harry slowly weaved his way through the trees towards the opposite end, taking long greedy breaths of the night air as he did so. It wasn’t anywhere near as satisfying as being able to fly at Hogwarts but he would take what small comforts he could get. Bit by bit, his shoulders grew lighter as the weight of the anxiety and stress of the day was lifted.

He must have been flying for at least ten minutes when he caught a glimpse of a familiar looking white flower below him. He couldn’t remember what it was called but he recognized it from the ones that grew at Grimmauld Place. It was some sort of magical night blooming flower, one of Remus’s favourites. Harry didn’t even hesitate before swooping down until he was close enough to the ground to dismount from his broom. He knelt down and carefully plucked the flower from its bush. He then cast a preservation charm before putting it in his pocket. Although he could already hear Remus’s voice scolding him for stealing from someone else’s garden, he couldn’t bring himself to feel too guilty about it. It was just one tiny flower among a million other identical ones, after all--no one was going to miss it.

He soon found out how wrong he was when a voice from above suddenly drawled, “It’s illegal to steal from the royal family, you know.”

Harry jumped, immediately whipping his wand out on instinct and aiming it up at shadows of the tree above him. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness but he was eventually able to make out the shape of another boy lounging on one of the trunks.

The boy chuckled. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. It can be our little secret, I suppose.”

Before Harry could reply, the boy gracefully leapt onto the ground and Harry caught a flash of blond hair that seemed to glow silver under the moonlight. “What I _am_ concerned about is what someone like you would be doing on the grounds after curfew. You must realize by now that Snape’s least favourite kind of people are the rule breakers.”

Harry lowered his wand and narrowed his eyes. He didn’t recognize the voice and the chances of the other boy being a guard was unlikely. It had to be one of the Selected, since it looked like he had been present during Snape’s memorable speech. Aside from the house elves, the Selected were the only other people in the room at the time. “That’s quite a bold statement coming from someone who’s in the same boat as me,” Harry shot back.

The boy chuckled again and the coarse sound made Harry bristle. “Not exactly,” he said.

“Not exactly, what?”

“I’m afraid we’re not exactly on the same boat. In fact, I’d go as far as to say we might even be oceans apart.”

Dread began pooling in Harry’s stomach. No--no, it couldn’t be. “Who are you?” he asked, even though he already suspected he knew the answer. And he dearly hoped he was wrong.

The boy took a step out of the shadows, revealing: first, a pair of black Oxfords shined to perfection; next, a slim figure in a well tailored black suit; and finally, a long pale face wearing a smug smirk that Harry had seen a million times in the _Daily Prophet_.

It belonged to Prince Draco.


End file.
